


Professionalism

by swirlybutt-mcmangocunt (pumpkinqueene)



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Dirty Talk, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Mission Fic, Rough Sex, Vaginal Sex, in the space of about an hour
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-27
Updated: 2017-03-27
Packaged: 2018-10-11 17:20:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10470156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pumpkinqueene/pseuds/swirlybutt-mcmangocunt
Summary: Zarya is a professional. Most of the time.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Orangekissess](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Orangekissess).



The air was hot and thick, sticking to her skin and weighing her down with its soupy, suffocating mulch. For the umpteenth time that hour, she dragged her hand across her forehead and shook the sweat from her fingertips. Fuck, it was too hot. 

“You would do well to remember the trust we are showing you, criminal,” she said, pushing her damp hair away from her face, “And the more than generous payment you are offered in exchange for your services. If I do not return, you lose it all.”

Roadhog grunted into his mask, a snuffly, laughing sound which reminded her of a pig in its trough. Then again, everything about him was evocative of swine. Whether his nickname was of his own invention or a moniker bestowed upon him, the comparison was exceptional, and he seemed to have taken to it with gusto. He was an enormous, fat man, grey-haired and dusty with a horrific rusty meathook dangling from a chain at his belt. His leather mask was moulded into a crude approximation of a snout, and even his tattoo was an incongruously cute cartoon pig, superimposed on a pair of Harley engines and wreathed in flames. This was a man whose commitment to his aesthetic was to be admired.

“Not to worry, Aleksandra,” he chuckled, a deep rooking sound which drew Zarya’s lips down in a frown, “I want this pardon more than I want you dead. I’m not a young man anymore. It’s time to retire. It’s hard to find good tea when you’re a wanted criminal.”

“Perhaps you ought to have avoided committing murder, theft, arson, terrorism, and other counts of criminal activity,” Zarya said baldly, “And you might have drunk all the tea you desired to. Now where is the entrance?”

“I’m taking you to it,” Roadhog said, “So impatient! And for the record, we both know that your boss sent you out here with me because you’re the only member of that organisation of chicken-legged bastards who stands a chance of besting me in a physical fight. Don’t look so worried, bub.”

“I am not worried,” Zarya glowered, hefting her particle cannon to remind herself of its reassuring weight by her side, “If you cross me, I will cook you like the pig you are, Roadhog.”

“Then it’s settled!” he laughed, slapping his big belly, “Let’s get on! I want to go to Japan and sample their famous tea. I’ve never been! Can you believe they banned me anyway?”

“Yes,” Zarya said shortly, “You are a dangerous, violent, cruel man, and they were clever to know that and stop you before you ever thought to go.”

The twisted remnants of the Australian Omnium were no less foreboding up-close than they had been from a distance. It was a dangerous landscape; a jagged, yawning crater ringed with black spires of metal, like a rotten mouth. Despite this, her pace was quick. She slid into the crater feet-first, right on Roadhog’s heels, vaulting a stray support strut to land upright with her particle cannon braced on her hip. Their window was limited. Zarya had only been given clearance to enter the radiation zone for twenty four hours, after which she was scheduled for extraction and a slew of contamination therapies to ensure she wouldn’t experience any long-term effects due to radiation exposure.

“I get the feeling you don’t like me,” Roadhog said.

“I don’t,” Zarya said, “I fight to protect people from men such as you. Where is the entrance?”

“Shame,” Roadhog said, “I thought we could get some tea together sometime. You like tea, right?”

They were losing time. Already, they had been travelling across the outback on foot for the best part of four hours, after a late arrival following a detour occasioned by an incident with Talon. They had less than twelve hours to find their way into the facility’s fragmented server rooms, ascertain the origin of a worrying signal the omnic Zenyatta had detected emanating from this site, record the layout, extract any material they could from the mainframe, and make it back to the drop zone in time for extraction. And Roadhog wanted to make small talk.

“I like tea,” Zarya offered narrowly, “You are chatty today. I was told you speak little.”

“Oh, that’s true,” Roadhog said, “But a bloke might get chatty around a bird he likes the look of. Come on, entrance’s this way.”

He set off at a jaunty stroll, whistling as though he were taking a walk in the park rather than leading an Overwatch agent through an irradiated desolation. Zarya hesitated, but followed. She kept a good distance, prudently realising that Roadhog was behaving abnormally compared with his baseline, and not wishing to get in too close in case he was leading her into a trap or trick. It wasn’t in his best interests to violate the terms of their agreement, but overcaution was a virtue in an Overwatch operative. Zarya hadn’t survived a brutal sub-zero war with the Omnics in Siberia by being trusting and counting on her enemies to think like she did. Roadhog would be no exception.

“What does this mean, “you like the look of a bird”?” she called, her voice muffled by the ashy dust beneath her feet, “Do you speak in code? To friends lying in wait?”

Roadhog laughed. Of course he did. He seldom did little else, when he bothered to vocalise at all. Threats and laughter were his forte. 

“You’ve never been to Australia before, have you?” he asked. Zarya’s grip tightened on her weapon.

“Explain yourself,” she ordered, “And I will decide whether I blow a hole in your pig nose tattoo. Speak quickly, and know that my aim is good.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Roadhog said, swinging his meathook around his hand lackadaisically, “You’re the strongest woman I’ve ever met. And a right hornbag to boot. It would almost be a privilege to be killed by Aleksandra Zaryanova.”

“I am the strongest woman in the world,” Zarya corrected him, stung, “And neither a horn nor a bag.”

She raised the muzzle of her cannon threateningly.

“You said you would speak clearly. I’m not in a playing mood,” she warned, “Our time is short, so speak fast.”

Another man might have crumpled in terror when faced with the potential wrath of the hero of the Russian Omnic Crisis, but Roadhog was a vast tower of a man who feared little and cared for nearly nothing. He laughed again, and Zarya found herself wondering what lay beneath that mask; if the face was as bestial as the man, or was there a handsome, scarred, and jowly visage under there?

Her first boyfriend had been a chubby teenager. Her first girlfriend had been another bodybuilder, four years her senior and eager to introduce a naïve but enthusiastic Sasha into her bed. Zarya tended towards robust, powerful lovers, and she was unashamed to admit as much. That said, a woman like her- all six-feet-and-five-inches of competition muscle and battle-honed strength, acclimatised to the ways of soldiers and all too aware of the ephemerality of life- was never picky. Zarya found beauty in everyone. But if she had a preference, it would be for people built like Roadhog. It was simply unfortunate about the man’s propensity for death and destruction.

She lowered the muzzle fractionally and awaited explanation.

“Do you want to lose a few layers?” Roadhog said instead, “You’re sweating like a pig. Can’t be comfortable.”

“You like pigs,” Zarya said, “And I am safer like this. My armour protects me. You are not answering me, and that makes me suspicious.”

“I’m not being subtle here, so I guess Australian doesn’t translate well into Russian English,” Roadhog snorted, “As simple as I can say it: I think you’re an attractive woman, and I’d love to fuck you.”

Until her dying breath, Zarya would deny that her cunt had clenched up with throbbing, aching want, but that didn’t mean that she would be telling the truth. Her fingers curled into her palms, squeezing tight enough to bruise.

“We need to enter the omnium,” she said, “Your job is to lead me there.”

“So tell me no, and we’ll get back to business,” Roadhog said, “Believe it or not, a man like me is used to rejection. You’re not going to hurt my feelings by not being interested.”

“Why do you ask, if you think I won’t want you?” Zarya asked curiously. Her cannon lowered even more, pointing downwards at an angle. She didn’t correct its trajectory. If Roadhog made a wrong move, he would simply find himself lacking feet.

Or so she told herself.

“Because there was an off-chance you would be interested,” Roadhog admitted, scratching his chin beneath his mask. He seemed almost embarrassed, and Zarya hated how endearing it was. She had always loved tigers and bears, and cuddly things which could slaughter you if you failed to stand against them.

“You wanted to go get tea together,” she recalled with comprehension.

“I like tea, and I like beautiful women,” Roadhog said, fidgeting bashfully with his meathook, “I thought it might be fun to have both.”

For the longest minute, Zarya didn’t respond. The wind got up in a solitary brash gust, which sprayed her with dust and cooled the sweat on her skin, making her aware of just how damp and sticky she was. Roadhog faced her across a rusting truck chasis, unruffled by the heat and filth. She wished she could see his face. It would make reading him much easier.

“Take me to the entrance,” she eventually said, “We will see about the tea.”

She was glad that her voice didn’t give her away. If Roadhog knew how handsome she found him, and how tempted she was by his strong arms, and his soft belly, and his crude, brutish façade, and the soppy secret burning between her thighs…well, she wasn’t sure what she would do- but she was certain he would be insufferable.

“Entrance is this way,” Roadhog said, setting off at a bounce, “We could go to Japan together. I want to participate in one of the tea ceremonies. I remember the last time I was in London, I went for afternoon tea every day. They have these tiny cups and saucers you can’t fit bugger-all in- and the cakes and sandwiches were amazing! But again, mini portions. I think they should serve proper portions at those things. I bought myself a fancy teapot and learned how to make those what-do-you-call-ems- petit-fours. But it’s not the same as sitting down to someone else’s cooking and brewing, is it?”

“You are very chatty, Roadhog,” Zarya remarked.

“I told you, I can’t keep my gob shut around beautiful women,” Roadhog said. Even with the mask covering his face, it was obvious he was grinning.

“And charming, for a criminal,” Zarya added, teasingly, “Is this the place?”

They had come to a stop in front of a bolted steel door, still trailing ribbons of faded police tape. Roadhog didn’t pause, bracing his shoulder against it with a heave and a grunt until it screeched inwards with a squall of chilly air.

“I think it’s the only place in the whole bloody facility which wasn’t blown to hell,” he said, “Come on, it’s just in here.”

Zarya found the temperature within to be pleasant, but Roadhog- an Australian man who spent his life in stifling heat- shivered.

“Do you want to add a few layers?” Zarya smirked, “You are shivering like a skinny man with no fat on his bones.”

“I don’t think I even own a shirt,” Roadhog grumbled, rubbing his arms as he shifted his weight from foot to foot. Zarya laughed brightly.

“You must buy one,” she said, “Tea shops and cafes do not serve half-naked men, I am told.”

“Oh?” Roadhog asked, sweeping aside some debris sitting on the main console, “And do they serve pink-haired women in armour?”

“I suppose we will both need a costume change if we are to avoid being a problem,” Zarya said unthinkingly as she cast around for the power source. It would have probably been wise to rescind her acceptance of his invitation; wise, but not preferred. Roadhog was a dangerous criminal- a murderer, a thief, and a terrorist. He wasn’t the kind of man Zarya ought to have been mixing herself up with, as a war hero and agent of Overwatch who had committed herself to the protection of the world against the breed of threat Roadhog represented.

Zarya wasn’t always wise. She didn’t always do the right thing. 

“Ha, found the signal!” Roadhog cackled, “Our mate here has been stepping on the console!”

Zarya blinked, dropping the rebar she’d been staring at vacantly for the past few minutes. In Roadhog’s meaty palm, sat a strange-looking rodent. Zarya looked into its little, jewel-bright eyes and let a laugh burst forth.

“I’ll still get my pardon, right?” Roadhog asked, tickling the creature beneath its chin.

“Of course,” Zarya chuckled, “You kept your word. At least we know the Omnium is not operational.”

It was a pain, coming here and finding that it had all been for the sake of a tiny, burrowing animal. But it would have been an even bigger pain if they had done nothing and the Omnium had been covertly building up an army of omnics. It was better to know. Even if it did mean that Zarya had to spend an entire twenty four hours in a dangerous, hot, irradiated wasteland with a criminal who knew its terrain and had the added advantage of being accustomed to the heat. 

“I like your laugh,” Roadhog said suddenly, stroking the ugly creature with one finger, “And your accent. There you go, mate.”

He dropped onto one knee and shuffled the animal off his palm, pushing it towards a corner far away from the console. And Zarya decided that it hadn’t been all bad.

“Thank you,” she said, “You are kind. I think I would like some tea.”

“Oh yeah?” Roadhog said, “And the other thing?”

Oh. Zarya’s belly drowned in heat.

“You are a man with guts,” she remarked, curling her toes in her boots, “Perhaps I will say no.”

“Perhaps you will,” Roadhog said, “Perhaps you won’t.”

He stood upright, a solid stronghold of fat and muscle. Zarya tossed aside her particle cannon and smashed into him, urging her fingers beneath the edge of his mask to rip it from his face and sink her teeth into the dip below his ear. He grunted in surprise, but his hand settled on her rump with a hard squeeze. Zarya sighed into his throat, spreading her legs and canting her hips backwards urgently. Roadhog took the bait; grooving his thumb into the heat of her cunt through her heavy pants and thin, clammy underwear as he stippled bruises on her ass with his squeezing fingertips.

“Fuck me,” she ordered against the shell of his ear. His face- lined, shrapnel-scarred, and flushed with a damp, feverish sweat- twisted up as though in pain.

“This fucking armour-!” he growled, “How’s a bloke going to-?”

But Zarya was already on it. She was well practiced at getting out of her armour quickly, whether for medical attention, bathing, or for reasons more in line with her current wants and needs. Her boots, greaves, and thigh plating hit the floor with a steely clack, followed by her vambraces and cuirass, until she was down to her pants and tight tank, steaming in the cool air and so so wet- 

Roadhog jerked her in close by the hips, breathing into her cleavage with shaky, snuffling breaths as he struggled with her pants; and Zarya laughed at him, all warm and low.

“You sound like a pig,” she remarked without sting.

“Do you think they call me Roadhog because I’m the gentlemanly type?” he asked, lifting his head, “If you want a bloke like that-.”

“Gentlemen bore me,” she grinned, “But I like this pig.”

Her kiss was deliberately harsh, bruising his lips and stinging his tongue. He smelled of sweat, iron, and diesel, and his mouth tasted like copper when she nipped him hard enough, her pulse burning in her throat, her chest heaving, her stomach constricting with want, with need; and she couldn’t even let go to fully undress, settling for dropping her pants and tearing her tank apart in one-handed haste as Roadhog told her how much he needed to fuck her right now, or he’d go properly, truly mad-

“Underwear?” he said, “No wonder you’re sweating, wearing three layers!”

“My apologies,” Zarya mocked him, clothed only in her sports bra and panties, “In future, I will forget the underwear.”

“Now you’re speaking my language!” 

Roadhog gave her a snaggle-toothed grin when she made to slide down her underwear, but it seemed that his already limited patience had been drained. They caught on the swell of her ass as he reeled her in like one of his enemies on the end of his hook, eyes manic in his face. Her sports bra rolled up across her sternum, a tight black band pushing down on her bare breasts, so dark against her full, pale flesh and pink nipples and the scratches he’d left in his urgent, ardent need. He swore through gritted teeth and dragged his tongue across the red lines with a delicious hot sting.

“Fuck. Me!” Zarya hissed, grinding her knee into his cock through his pants. Roadhog moaned around her nipple, and Zarya panted, open-mouthed, her hair sticking to her forehead and her shoulders prickling with sweat as she scoured her nails down Roadhog’s back and lured him into the lee of her thighs. She could feel him against her; the swell of his cock, thick and hefty, trapped behind his fly. Her fingers felt numb and clumsy, leaden with frantic, frenetic lust- but she still made a good go of opening his fly before he slammed her back against the console with a worrying crack of plastic and glass, and crowded into her as their breath fogged between them.

“You’re wet,” he said, catching his thumb against her enflamed clit through her panties.

“Yes, that tends to happen in situations like this,” Zarya said, lifting her head off a monitor to watch Roadhog chase a line down her centre, into the parting of her lips. Her slick underwear ribboned up, translucent and moulding to the contours of her cunt. Even though the white material, it was obvious how excited she was- how swollen and soaked she was- but when he pulled her panties to one side, bunching them in the crease of her thigh, she glistened a deep, vibrant pink. Roadhog cursed again. 

“You really like pink, don’t you?” he asked, in the spirit of a joke.

“I do,” Zarya confirmed, sliding her heel against his groin, “Pink hair, pink nails, pink pussy…and pigs are pink too, aren’t they?”

Roadhog hissed through his teeth and set to work on his pants.

“I’m going to fuck you so hard-!” he said, sending a button skittering into a corner.

“Don’t say; do,” Zarya said smugly. 

Roadhog left his pants around his hips, too impatient to fully undress, and freed his cock. It hung beneath its own weight, long, heavy and fat with a dripping, flushed crown. Zarya’s breath snagged in her chest, but she had enough presence of mind to throw her legs wide and keep her panties pulled to the side when he hurried back towards her, huffing like he’d run a mile through the desert. There was no waiting or hesitation; just the thick hot slide of his cock, and the stretch of her yielding cunt, and a pace like hammer blows- hard and fast, knocking the air out of her as the console creaked beneath their combined weight and strength, and the monitor cracked like sugar glass. Roadhog’s back was drenched in sweat, but Zarya held on with thighs and fingers, panting praise and encouragement into his shoulder. Somehow, despite their proximity, he managed to squeeze his hand between them to massage her clit at a harsh, horizontal tempo as he fucked her hard, grunts and groaning mixing with deep moans and gasps, and messy wet sounds and the electric hum of the servers.

And Zarya’s hips began to judder and jerk as orgasm fizzled beneath her navel, drawing her higher and higher, and tighter and tighter, until she came with a yell and the metallic crunch of her fists against the console, scattering buttons and dials; but it was better to break a computer than to leave Roadhog with any shattered scapulae or vertebrae from the crushing force of her strength. Not long afterwards, he seized with a grunt, bursting hotly inside her, and she thanked her stars she’d had the forethought take precautions years ago. The coil normally did the job, but considering the load he’d just spilled into her, it would probably be best to err on the side of caution and take some of the emergency pills she carried with her, just in case. 

He pulled out with a flood of come which left a viscous trail down her cleft and ruined her panties. She considered them for a moment, then slid them off to stash them in her pocket. 

As Roadhog secured his mask and buttoned his pants, Zarya re-armed herself and ran a shaky hand through her sweaty hair. No part of her wanted to move, but she knew she had to. That boneless, fucked-out state she always sought- but rarely achieved- left her lethargic and chirpy, which was probably why she looked over at Roadhog and said: “We have good cafés and tea rooms in Russia. I could show them to you, if you like”.

“I would like,” Roadhog said, “I’ll even put on a shirt.”

“You make me feel special!” Zarya laughed, “Come, we will contact Winston so he knows it was a false alarm, and then we will get tea.”

“And afterwards?” Roadhog said, voice laden with suggestion. Zarya turned to him with a smirk, her eyelids draped suggestively low as she bit her smeared pink lipstick.

“Afterwards, we will see how well you can keep up,” she offered, leading him out into the sun.


End file.
